


"You don't know you the way I do."

by ParanoidGarbage



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, argument, nondescriptive mention of underage sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-11-22 00:43:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11369010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParanoidGarbage/pseuds/ParanoidGarbage
Summary: An argument about Ronan's nightly visits with the dream pack.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Filling the tumblr prompt "You don't know you the way I do."  
> Also posted on my writing blog, paranoidteenagegarbage.tumblr.com!   
> Want updates on writing progress? Check out my twitter, @OllieDollie23!

Ronan pulled on a dark hoodie over his tank top, carrying his shoes with him as he padded quietly across the hardwood floor. He had hoped not to wake Gansey for once, wanting to sneak out without a lecture on how racing would harm his future, but Gansey had been waiting for him.

“Where are you going?” he asks mock politely, as if he already knew exactly where Ronan was going. It was the voice he used when negotiating with someone, and even in the dark Ronan could picture Gansey’s falsely curious expression, head cocked slightly to the side. The hairs on the back of Ronan’s neck stood up and he fought back a swear. 

“Don’t ask pointless questions, Dick.”

“Don’t call me that,” Gansey hastily corrected before launching into his speech, “And you do realize that Declan will do everything in his power to make sure that you don’t get your money if you get that car taken away? It’s just the first step; you lose your license, and then you lose Aglionby, and then you lose your inheritance. Think about it.”

“I did think about it, and I don’t care. I can’t sit in here all night, I’ll lose my mind before I lose my inheritance. I’m going out.” Ronan moved towards the door, but Gansey’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“Don’t go with him,” Gansey’s voice was pained, “Because if you keep going with him, one day you won’t come back. I know you’ve been seeing him more and more lately, and I know what you two do.”

“Is it really any of your business,” Ronan wrenched his arm testily away from Gansey’s grip, “What I do with my friends?”

Gansey thought he and Adam were Ronan’s friends. He pushed that aside and quickly recovered though, determined to protect Ronan from himself. “Drinking and driving,” Gansey pressed on in a businesslike voice, careful to keep the hurt out of his tone, “Stealing, vandalism, drugs."  _Kissing. Sex._

Gansey wasn’t sure of the last two, but when Ronan came home inebriated with a knowing smile and a musky odor clinging to him, it seemed pretty clear what was happening at Kavinsky’s events. "You’ll get caught. You aren’t careful." 

"And what makes you think I don’t want to be caught?” Ronan hissed, “What makes you think I’m doing any of this with the intention of not getting caught?”  
  
That was a bluff. Ronan hated the police, and he hated the few nights he’d spent in holding. He’d hate juvenile detention, too.  
  
“Ronan, don’t do this. You’d really throw everything away for him? _Kavinsky_?”  
  
“I’m not throwing anything away, I’m just going out to have fun! What don’t you understand about  ****that? Fun, Gansey, do you remember it? We used to have fun, but then all you seem to care about lately is Glendower. Do you even care what’s at the end of the trail anymore, or are you just keeping on because you have nothing left?"

Ronan knew that he was wrong as soon as the words left his mouth, that he had said too much, but he couldn’t take it back. It was done. 

Gansey’s face visibly fell, parental facade faltering. "This isn’t…about me. Kavinsky is bad for you, he’s going to ruin you.” _He’s going to take you away from me._

“What if _I_ ruin _him_? He has no control over me, I do what I want. You should know that the best,” Ronan spat, throwing his shoes on the ground, fully committed to the argument.  
  
“You don’t know you the way I do,” Gansey shook his head sadly, “I know what he’s doing to you. I’ve been trying to help you, I’ve been trying to save you from yourself ever since Niall died and he just adds fuel to the fire. You’re burning yourself alive, Ronan. You’re just hurting yourself with all of this.” To demonstrate his point, Gansey pushed his fingertips underneath Ronan’s leather bracelets and touched the bumpy, scarred skin of his forearms. “It’s not fun, it’s self-flagellation.”  
Ronan shoved Gansey and snarled, “The fuck you know me. You don’t know shit.”  
  
Gansey considered grabbing Ronan by the collar and slamming him against the wall, but decided against it. Instead, he clenched his fists tightly by his side and took a deep breath as he considered what to say next.  
  
He couldn’t come up with anything sensible.  
  
“Don’t expect me to bail you out this time.”  
  
At that, Ronan picked up his shoes and left, flipping Gansey the bird as he stalked towards the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The results of Ronan's evening out with Kavinsky.

Ronan didn't come home that morning. Nor did he that afternoon.

Sometime in the evening, Gansey received a text message from Ronan's phone, but the image attachment made it clear that Ronan hadn't sent it. He was being pulled out of the crumpled BMW by two of Kavinsky’s cronies. "Come get your puppy," the text said, "he's sick."

Gansey jumped into action, running down the stairs and unlocking the Pig before he had even left the factory. He pushed the Camaro as fast as it would go without paying heed to the whining motor. "Don't you fucking dare die on me!" he slammed both hands on the steering wheel so hard that it hurt. Gansey wasn't sure whether he was shouting at the car or Ronan.   
  
By the time he arrived at the address that Kavinsky had sent him, a large empty parking lot on the edge of town that was famously used as a drag strip, all evidence of the race had been removed. There was nobody present, except for a figure slumped against one of the many streetlights that lined the parking lot. Gansey’s blood went cold; Ronan was hurt and Kavinsky just left him there. How could he? Gansey knew that Kavinsky was bad but he thought that he at least--no, Gansey was wrong. Of course Kavinsky didn’t care about Ronan. Gansey wasn’t sure how long he stood there, frozen in fear of what he might find upon approaching Ronan. Was he badly hurt? Were his bones snapped and his face smashed in? Had Gansey not been fast enough--had Ronan died? He imagined what it was like, how the impact must have pushed the life out of Ronan in just a split second. Then he imagined Ronan lying there, waiting for Gansey to save him and remembered that the last thing he said to Ronan was that he wouldn’t be coming this time. He ran forward then, unable to deal with that possibility. 

Gansey gasped as he approached his friend, finding Ronan unconscious with blood trickling down from a cut on his eyebrow. His hand was shaking as he reached out to touch Ronan's shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. Ronan's eyelids fluttered and Gansey let out a breath. When did he start holding it?   
  
"Ronan, come on, wake up," Gansey patted his cheek, then went to the Pig to get a wad of napkins. He gently dabbed at Ronan’s brow and the pain was enough to jerk Ronan awake.

“Fuck,” Ronan groaned, hands moving up to cradle his head, “What happened?”

“You crashed, you son of a bitch.” Gansey struggled to keep his voice steady, “I told you not to go."

“Did I win?” Ronan grunted, eyes squeezed shut from the pain in his head. Gansey begins feeling for a bump.

“You didn’t win anything but a concussion,” Gansey concludes. Yup, a large knot was forming on the top of Ronan’s head. “Can you stand?”

Ronan stood at length, failing to hide how much effort it took. “My ribs hurt like a bitch,” he wheezed out a weak laugh.

“I’ll need to take you to the hospital,” Gansey started cautiously, “And I don’t want any fight from you.” _This is what you get for not listening to me._ Gansey would never say that to Ronan, but he definitely thought it. He pushed the thought away quickly however; he’d never wished any harm to come upon Ronan and he wasn’t about to start.   


By the time they’d gotten Ronan checked out--bruised ribs, not broken, and a minor concussion along with a set of stitches for his eyebrow--and taken home, Gansey had decided to save his lecture for another time. Ronan needed rest, and Gansey wasn’t so mad as he was concerned at that point.

Unfortunately, Ronan wasn’t about to let the evening pass without another argument.

"I thought that you weren't going to bail me out this time?"  
  
Gansey sighed, setting aside the book that he hadn't really been reading, "Your friend told me to come rescue you." The way he said _friend_ made it sound like the sorest insult that could be flung at anyone. “What were you two doing? Do you even care that you’ve wrecked the BMW?”

“No, I don’t care,” Ronan answered infuriatingly coolly, “K said he’d buy me a new one.”

That pushed Gansey over the edge; the nickname, the cavalier way that Ronan dismissed his car being destroyed, the faith in Kavinsky’s charity. Did he know all that Gansey had done and all that he had given to make sure that he could stay at Aglionby, stay at Monmouth, keep his car despite the many times he’d been caught by police? And he was just fine with leeching off of Kavinsky’s dirty money, just fine with throwing all of Gansey’s work down the drain. “Oh, Joseph Kavinsky is going to buy you a new car? What if you total that one too, will he buy you a new one then? What if you get arrested, will he bail you out? He left you unconscious in the parking lot, Ronan! What reason do you have to trust him?”

“He’s predictable, and therefore reliable,” Ronan explained, picking at his stitches.

Gansey pushed Ronan’s hand away to prevent him from doing any further damage, “He isn’t _reliable_ , he is a _criminal._ I don’t want you hanging around him anymore, it’s not good for you.”

“What isn’t good for me,” Ronan began, blood boiling, “is staying cooped up in my room all the time! What do you want me to do, sit quietly and wait for you to need me? I’m a person, Gansey, I’m not your dog!”

Gansey’s dog. That’s what Kavinsky calls Ronan. Had they been talking about Gansey? Had Kavinsky turned Ronan against him? Gansey could suddenly see so clearly that he was losing his best friend.

“No, you’re his dog now aren’t you? Well, if you’re so loyal to Kavinsky you can just go let him take care of you.” That’s not what Gansey wanted to say. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, but that definitely wasn’t it. That would just push Ronan further away when Gansey desperately wanted to restore the closeness they enjoyed before Niall’s death, but then again, something inside Gansey knew that it would be so much easier to just let Ronan go.

“You know what? Fine.” Ronan jogged down the stairs and slammed the door, leaving Gansey fuming in the midst of his tiny Henrietta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This was a highly edited continuation that was initially supposed to be the resolution of the first part. I ended up changing directions and now I've been inspired to write at least one or two more chapters. I hope to have those up soon, so stay tuned!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan spends the night with the Dream Pack and finds it surprisingly pleasant.

Ronan arrived at Kavinsky’s clubhouse empty-handed and tired-eyed. He was pulled through the door and sat on a leather couch, a drink and a blunt thrusted wordlessly into his hand. Good, this is exactly what he needed. Ronan needed to be lost in the haze of smoke and confuse his own heartbeat with the thrumming bass of the music. He let the alcohol dissolve his worries as Kavinsky sat heavily next to him, throwing an arm around the back of the couch behind Ronan. 

“It’s past your curfew, Lynch,” Kavinsky blew smoke into Ronan’s face as he spoke, “Won’t have to go running back home with your tail between your legs will you?” 

“I’m not going back there,” Ronan answered with a grimace.

“Why not? I thought you liked sucking Dick Three’s solid gold--” Ronan cut him off with a kiss. It was rough and angry and pulled a growl from the back of Kavinsky’s throat. Kavinsky reached for Ronan’s jaw, but Ronan pulled him away by the hair. “Are you wanting, Lynch?” Kavinsky asked with a smirk. 

“Fuck you,” Ronan pushed Kavinsky away but peeled off his shirt nonetheless. Kavinsky hovered over Ronan with a mad sort of hunger in his eyes and Ronan let the cool leather of the couch slap against his back. 

Later that night--or was it later that morning? You lose all sense of time when dining with lotus eaters--Ronan had the pleasure of watching Prokopenko and Skov playing pennies with Swan as a target. He jeered and howled alongside Kavinsky, egging the boys on and praising the most impressive welts. Ronan even threw a few pennies himself. Jiang ensured that a drink was always in Ronan’s hand, for which he was grateful, ensuring that he had become heavily intoxicated by the time that Kavinsky pulled out his knife. 

“You want to run with the wolves, puppy dog?” Kavinsky taunted, “Prove your loyalty.” The boys all presented their left hands, showing thin scars running across their palms. Kavinsky handed Ronan the knife and Prokopenko readied a bandage. 

Ronan considered the knife for a moment, wondering how clean it was and knowing that Gansey would disapprove of this exercise in self-mutilation. He knew why the members of the Dream Pack did it--they proved their loyalty to Kavinsky by hurting themselves, reinforcing in everyone’s minds that injury to self is routine and expected. They were willing to put their bodies and lives on the line for the sake of the party. Ronan, however, was going to do it because Gansey wouldn’t want him to. A wicked, mirthless smile worked its crooked way across Ronan’s face as he dragged the blade diagonally along his palm to a chorus of hoots and hollers from the onlooking boys. Kavinsky took Ronan’s hand and licked the length of the wound, then left Prokopenko to clean up. 

“You’re one of us now,” Prokopenko declared with a grin, giving Ronan’s shoulder an enthusiastic shake.  _ Further away from Gansey, _ Ronan thought.

The sleeping arrangements were random; each boy slept wherever he fell asleep, literally drinking until they dropped. Ronan and Kavinsky were the last awake, locked in an intense game of stabscotch. It ended when Ronan tried to go too quickly and nicked the side of his thumb. He hissed and brought the digit to his mouth to prevent the blood from spilling onto the table and Kavinsky threw his arms up in victory. 

“Oh shit Lynch, I didn’t think you’d do it!” Kavinsky snickered, pulling down his sunglasses to better search for any indication of shock or pain on Ronan’s face. Ronan simply winked as Kavinsky walked into the filthy kitchen to retrieve the roll of bandages that was kept with the first aid kit in a cabinet above the stove. He kicked over a few empty bottles--lord knows how long they’d been sat on the kitchen floor--on the way back to Ronan. 

“Hand,” Kavinsky demanded as he took the chair across from Ronan. 

“No way,” Ronan shook his head, “I don’t want you messing around with my wound. You’ll fuck it up.” 

Kavinsky clucked his tongue and grabbed Ronan’s hand anyways, “You think I don’t know how to take care of my men? There’s a reason we’re all still alive, and it’s not for lack of trying.” He expertly bandaged Ronan’s thumb and pressed a sarcastic kiss to the back of Ronan’s hand once he was finished. 

“There, all better. Now go the fuck to sleep, I’m sick of seeing your face,” Kavinsky declared as he pushed Ronan’s head away. 

Ronan grinned and looked down at his doubly bandaged hand, flexing his fingers to feel the cut across his palm move underneath the gauze. He felt right at home here, with this pain. 

Ronan awoke to blaring dance music and an awful, off-key chorus of singing. He sat up and groaned; he’d slept on the floor without a pillow and now had an awful crick in his neck. The other boys were already awake, singing and dancing around the house as they got ready for the day. He wandered into the bathroom where he found Skov and Kavinsky doing their hair. 

“Get out, I gotta piss,” Ronan announced. 

“Toilet’s right there.” Kavinsky jerked his head to the side to indicate the direction in which the toilet sat, not bothering to look up from spiking his hair. 

“I’m not gonna piss in front of you two, now scram.” 

“Then pee in the shower,” Skov laughed, “We aren’t leaving.” 

Ronan growled and pushed them aside to urinate into the sink. Kavinsky laughed as he was thrown into the door while Skov, unperturbed, leaned over Ronan’s shoulder to continue brushing his hair into just the right shape. Urinating in the sink was wise, as Ronan didn’t have to fight for the space to wash his hands afterwards. He pushed past the still-howling Kavinsky to find the source of the godawful singing--the rest of the boys were making breakfast. 

“Lynch! How do you like your eggs?” Swan asked cheerily, turning down the stereo for a moment. 

“How the hell do you guys cook in this shithole?” Ronan marveled at the electric stovetop with bacon and eggs in a basket sizzling away. Hadn’t that housed various  _ substances _ just a few hours earlier? Actually, looking around in the daytime, the apartment itself was quite upscale--the boys had just trashed it. Though he noticed that the majority of the fresh bottles had been set aside neatly and the ones that were thrown against the walls in drunken excitement were nowhere to be seen; maybe there was a method to the madness. 

Kavinsky then announced his presence by grabbing his own crotch and hollering, “He likes these eggs!”

Ronan turned and delivered an expertly placed blow to Kavinsky’s particulars, which set all of the boys laughing. “I’ll take them scrambled,” Ronan sat backwards in a chair at the dining room table and started clearing away bottles for a spot to eat. “Lots of bacon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, chapter 4 is on the way! I don't currently have a plan as to how long this will run, but I'll keep writing as long as people keep enjoying it!  
> Check out my twitter @OllieDollie23 for updates on writing progress!  
> This chapter is also available to read on my writing blog, paranoidteenagegarbage.tumblr.com!  
> 


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